


Belonging: 12x03 Missing Scene

by Barcelona_Avenue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x03, Angst, Episode: s12e03 The Foundry, M/M, Missing Scene, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10163390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barcelona_Avenue/pseuds/Barcelona_Avenue
Summary: Mary had asked him when he began to feel like he belonged in the world – and he had responded with a half–truth. He told her he wasn’t sure if he did, but more and more Castiel began to feel that he certainly did not.Follows on from Cas's conversation with Mary Winchester at the start of 12x03, The Foundry.





	

Castiel watched Mary walk away with a heavy feeling. He recognised the look in her downcast eyes. She was lost, lonely, confused, and angry – to name just a few of the thousand human emotions likely plaguing her. The world she knew and understood had vanished. She had been unceremoniously dumped into this new reality, with all its harshness and blinding lights. Nothing made sense, nothing felt right. Castiel had been there before. He knew how terrifying humanity could be.

Well, at least Mary had the advantage of knowing how to _be_ human.

Come to think of it – she also had the advantage of a roof over her head, right off the bat. Not to mention a warm, comfortable place to sleep, food, and the support and love of the brothers Winchester. Coping with humanity was far easier with those little luxuries, Castiel thought, feeling the choking tendrils of some dark emotion catch in his throat. Was it envy? Anger?

It was an inappropriate response. He shouldn’t be experiencing anger, not because of Mary and certainly not because of something that was far in the past. He was an Angel of the Lord; sort of. Insignificant human actions should not be affecting him in this way, but the last vestiges of his humanity clearly begged to differ.

Castiel paused. He explored the consuming, fiery ball of emotions fighting for purchase over his still Angel parts. Sorting through the ones he could understand, he came to a conclusion. There was anger, but it certainly wasn’t directed at Mary, and it wasn’t resurfacing in response to painful memories. It had a purpose, a direction. And it wasn’t even truly anger, but rather a sort of frustration mixed with anxiety. Castiel had come to learn the subtle differences between these nuanced emotions so well, he believed he was more in control of his angel-human-hybrid feelings than any of the humans of his acquaintance.  He supposed that wasn’t difficult, when those people were also Winchesters.  He revisited his conversation with Mary. She had asked him when he began to feel like he belonged in the world – and he had responded with a half–truth. He told her he wasn’t sure if he did, but more and more Castiel began to feel that he certainly did not.

Why, then, did he stay? He was increasingly becoming more a hindrance than help during the brothers’ fight against evil. Regardless of their protestations he knew it to be the truth. His power was barely a whisper of what it used to be, his wings damaged beyond repair. He couldn’t return to Heaven, not as the shadow of the Angel he was, nor did he have any desire to re-join his brethren there. Castiel was in limbo – a Purgatory of his own making, only this one was far less easy to understand. The real Purgatory had rules, it was simpler. Fight, survive, save Dean. Those rules still applied, only Castiel had failed rather miserably at the ‘fight’ part of it all recently. But most importantly, for once, Dean Winchester was not in need of saving.

Therein lay the proverbial rub, of course. The reason he lingered, trapped between two worlds and belonging to neither. He stayed for Dean, everything was always for Dean. But Dean didn’t really need him anymore.

Castiel had been wandering the expanse of the bunker, without noting where he was going as he became lost in his ruminations. He happened upon the Winchester in question now and wasn’t in the least surprised. He was tethered to this man and would always be drawn back to him, no matter where he was.

Dean looked up from his place on the kitchen floor and offered a lazy, contented grin. He was relaxed against the counter and had been flipping through items in a small lockbox.

“Hey Cas,” he said.

“Hello Dean.”

It was their usual exchange, but there was softness to the tone this time that wasn’t usually present. Castiel noted the whiskey bottle cradled in Dean’s lap and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Dean laughed, “I’m not wallowing this time, I’m celebrating!”

“Is that so?”

“Dude. Sammy’s back, _Mom’s_ back. Nobody’s cursed or dying or anything, and nothing is trying to destroy the world. Life is good.”

Cas smiled. “I supposed that is true. Although I _can_ tell when you’re lying, Dean.”

Dean huffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever man,” he grumbled. Cas fixed him with a pointed look, and Dean sighed in defeat. “Okay, so there’s a bit of wallow going on. Celebratory wallowing,” he tapped the floor beside him, “wanna join me?”

Sliding down next to Dean, Cas took a swig from the offered whiskey and grimaced. The molecules were particularly molecule-y today.

“And the British Men of Letters?” Cas said after a moment.

“They’re not _exactly_ trying to kill us, at the moment. ‘Sides, we can take ‘em.”

They were quiet for a moment, sitting together with shoulders almost touching. Dean took another couple swigs from the whiskey bottle while Cas lost himself in his thoughts. Dean seemed to notice, and elbowed him in the ribs.

“Hey, man. You’re kinda quiet. Like more so than usual.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous.” Dean laughed at Cas’s exasperation, “Kidding, kidding!”

“The world didn’t end…again. I need to re-evaluate some things,” he said.

“Okay…” Dean replied slowly. He turned a little to face Cas now, his hand reaching for a reassuring shoulder pat, but inexplicably settling on top of Castiel’s hand. “You wanna explain what that means?”

The touch was light, but Castiel felt as if his vessel was on fire. He tried to tell himself it was only because of the whiskey, Dean was tipsy, but the wisps of electricity pulsating from Dean’s hand were making every thought much more complicated. Cas faced him as well, his head tilting slightly to the side. He search Dean’s eyes for some kind of sign, an indication that there was more going on here. Cas was projecting, he knew it. Every little thought, every feeling inside, he wanted to share it with Dean. He needed to make him understand what it was like; to know when you don’t belong, but stay anyway. Dean seemed to sense the shift in the atmosphere, the changes in Cas’s face. He tensed a little, but did not break their contact. They had edged closer without realising and now the distance between them was barely a few inches. They hadn’t been in such proximity for so long and Castiel hadn’t realised how much he craved it. It was still; intimate. Cas could see every line on Dean’s face, the colouration in his cheeks from the alcohol. He could feel Dean’s warmth and relished in how it seemed to anchor him to the earth.

He reached forward with his other hand and let it rest gently on Dean’s cheek, feeling how it burned from the contact. Those pesky vestiges of humanity were causing his vessel’s heart to hammer uncontrollably in his chest, but it calmed when Dean leaned a little into the touch and closed his eyes. The moment gave Castiel perfect clarity. Could Dean see it too? Did he understand?

It was just as Dean said before. For the first time in years, there was nothing standing between them. No major world-ending crisis to avert, no Darkness or Leviathan. No Metatron or Mark of Cain. Nobody was dying or possessed, or secretly plotting with the King of Hell. Okay, there was still Lucifer, but he was hardly the threat he once was. He was small fry compared to their ordeal with Amara. Besides, living in the same meat suit as the Devil really took the edge off fearing him.

There had been so many obstacles for so many years, always a new reason why ‘now’s not a great time’, or an excuse to say ‘Come on Cas, can we talk about this later?’ The path was cleared and the future, though not exactly shining, at least wasn’t bleak. Castiel knew it was now or never. Since the moment he raised Dean’s soul from Hell he was irrevocably tied to the man. He’d felt for some time that their bond was greater than any other he knew, and Cas was ready to go all in. It was the only way he could make sense of his divided existence, and he needed to act now before Lucifer tried to restart the bleeding apocalypse.

Castiel loved Dean Winchester. He needed Dean Winchester. Damn the scraps of Angel left inside; he would fall again and again for Dean Winchester, if only he’d ask.

Leaning in a little, Cas let his hand slip down Dean’s face and trace his bottom lip. He wanted to melt into this perfectly flawed specimen of humanity.

“Dean,” he whispered, closing his eyes and aiming to close the gap. He was sure this was it, the culmination of so many years waiting.

Cas felt the hand on top of his own shift. It met his other, clasping his wrist and stilling his movements. His eyes flew open. Dean had shuffled back a few inches, and lowered the hand he’d stopped mid-action. The message was clear.

“Cas…” Dean started, trying to explain. But Castiel was not interested in hearing this year’s excuse.

“Good night, Dean. I’ll leave you to your wallowing,” he said curtly, standing and dusting off his coat. He tried to leave but was stopped again by that infuriating hand upon his wrist.

“Cas, wait,” Dean said, wobbling a little as he stood. “I’m not…it’s not…”

“I think I’ll check if there are any leads on Lucifer, if you and Sam have a handle on things here,” Cas said, ignoring him. He needed to retreat, and swiftly. He shook off Dean’s hand and made for the door.

“Wait,” Dean said again. He sounded desperate, so Cas paused at the doorway.

There was a sigh. Dean kicked the ground nervously, “I’m sorry man. It’s just now…what with Mom back and all, I need to sort through that, you know? Timing’s not right. I can’t do this right now.”

There it was - the obstacle. Dean Winchester was nothing if not resourceful. Castiel wasn’t angry, he even understood. Of course Dean needed to come to terms, emotionally, with his mother’s resurrection – it was huge. The sort of thing you might even want to discuss with the person you love. Naturally, after you admit you love them.

Castiel was once again struck with perfect clarity. There was always going to be an obstacle between them and its name was Dean Winchester. Nothing could ever stop him falling for Dean, but Dean would always find a reason not to fall for Castiel; in every sense of the word.

“It’s never going to be us, is it?” Cas asked quietly.

Dean had no response.

“Better check on those leads,” he said, and retreated as Dean stood wordless in the kitchen.

 

When he left the Winchester brothers the next morning, waving away their offers for help with declarations that Lucifer was his problem alone, Castiel made a point of looking Dean directly in the eye. He needed him to understand. This was better. He had to disentangle himself from their lives and make his own way.

Castiel did not belong here.

 


End file.
